


La Belle Dame Sans Regrets

by CrescentMoonRising



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Irish Actor RPF
Genre: Angry Sex, Diva - Freeform, Do I love him, Do i hate him, F/M, Feels, Hate to Love, Long-Distance Relationship, Love/Hate, NSFW, Operas, Smut, Soprano, difficult past, hurling items, yes there will be feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrescentMoonRising/pseuds/CrescentMoonRising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosette Sauvageau is a world class Soprano, beginning her tenure at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City.  When she crosses paths with Michael Fassbender, neither is impressed with the other.  However, their lives will intertwine and place them on a path of both passion and destruction.  Only time can tell if they'll end up in blissful love or unending hate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More information about this work is on my blog crescent-moon-rising.tumblr.com. Please enjoy and let me know what you think :D

_“So what are your thoughts on the term, ‘Diva’? Do you believe it accurately describes you?”_

Her fingers tapped on the glass, condensation dripping onto her finger and saturating her skin.  Bringing the gin and tonic to her lips, she paused a second longer than necessary before she answered the question.

Without turning her head, she sighed, “ _Diva_. It’s become this term, a connotation of negativity.  The original use of the word is of a grand singer, a young woman with impeccable talent.  However, did a vision of the Diva from Phantom immediately pop into your head?  The woman with the garish makeup and shrill voice, demanding the attention of everyone around her.” Rosette silently mused that this intrusion would be lucky if he knew that Phantom was a musical before it became a movie.  His wrinkled suit, along with the tacky cologne that permeated her senses, only confirmed those beliefs.

She turned toward the little man, the one who thought he could be cute and provoke a sound bite from Rosette. Another one of these stupid, pitiful men who worked for a media site instead of a respected newspaper or outlet.   _Well, if that was what he wanted, I'l make this annoyance worth my while._

“However, I believe that is not what you were implying, was it? In fact, I’d garner the assumption that you were trying to describe a woman who knows what she wants and will stop at nothing to achieve it.  A woman who others may seem as difficult or demanding, but in reality is someone who is in control.  Something that most people still, even in this progressive age in 2015, have difficulty understanding.  Because a woman in control still gives men like you pause.  Perhaps that is what the Diva from Phantom was—a woman who knew her talents and demanded respect.”

He began to shrink from her, moving backward from the bar until Rosette flashed her million watt smile and raised her glass.

“In any event, the word means nothing to me because the title means nothing to me.  I am a Soprano, the best there is in the world today. If that is not the case, then the Metropolitan Opera House has made a terrible mistake when they cast me as the lead role in  _Carmen_  this season. Excuse me.”  Her Fords smacked into the carpet as she crossed the room into a sea of men in various levels of tuxedo and women in dresses that they had begged and borrowed for the night’s festivities.  

Another premiere to attend, another night to prance around for the cameras and higher ups that all wanted to congratulate themselves on a job well done.  Rosette transformed to mere window dressing against the well-known actors and actresses that milled around her. Ignoring most of them, she only wished to end this charade and find another, more intimate party, to indulge in her preferred late night activities.

Her eyes searched the room for the haphazard curls and navy blue suit of her assistant. With a forceful twist of her sequined gold gown, she headed across the red carpeting towards the sparkling sky high windows, pushing her way though the sea of people. At the far end there was another smaller bar set up, where her P.A.  positioned at the edge, tapping away on his cell phone, per usual.

Finishing her gin and tonic in one swig, she headed straight for him, until she collided with another, firmer body in front of her. She nearly hit the floor, but she was steady enough in her four inch stilettos to know how to handle a swift change of direction.  With a quick glance downward, she felt a warm, yet firm  hand on her wrist and she snatched it out of the offending gentlemen’s grasp.

 _“La Vache!”_ she groaned before she snapped, “Watch where you’re going.”

The ginger haired brute peered down, his green eyes running wide at her tone, “Excuse me?” he huffed. “How about you watch yourself?”

“Do you normally go barreling into women or is this your first time?” Rosette snarled, her attentions trained on this cretin, and he would pay for his insolence.  Looking into his eyes that never left hers, Rosette recognized the face.  However, even an Oscar-nominated actor was no match for her, and she readied as she could see he was not going to back down. His height should have taken her down a notch, but once engaged, there would be no stopping the freight train of her anger.

His hands flared out to his sides, “I am truly sorry, Miss, but you smacked into me. However, please, let me take the opportunity to express my displeasure in our unfortunate collision.” His mouth curved into a grin, and almost every one of his teeth flashed in tandem.  Rosette wondered if he would continue to apologize or attempt a bite out of her shoulder.

His eyes raked her body up and down, savoring every curve and flash of skin available before he asked, “Are you here tonight for my movie?” Shockingly, more teeth appeared and Rosette folded her arms around her chest.   _Oh no, he’s going for option three: egotistical showoff._

“Obviously.  However, I declined from seeing your movie, Mister Fassbender, correct?” She rolled the ‘r’ in his name, as her native accent perked at the surface, as it was wont to do when she was furious.

He began to stammer, thrown by her brazenness, which made her happier than she could imagine, “Wha-Wait—you do know who I am—b-but you didn’t see the movie? Why?”

“So I could watch a film about the man who made my phone and laptop? I have better ways to spend an evening. The auditorium can become a bit cold; it’s not healthy for the vocal cords.”  With a long sigh, she allowed her finger to drape down her neck, watching his mouth open to reveal a wisp of tongue.

A long sigh indicated her boredom at the surroundings, “No, I was asked to attend as part of the MET’s cast this season.  I’ve made my appearance, and I will leave.” Which she should have—but this banter was keeping her entertained for the time being.

A scowl formed across his brow, “That’s right, you’re that Opera singer.  Something tells me that a nice cuppa and your footie pajamas are not on the agenda for this evening, am I right?” While the jolt ran though her spine at the notion that he knew of her, the mocking lilt in his voice fueled her fire even further.

“Wasn’t there supposed to be an apology coming at some point in this conversation?”

“I did apologize.  You, however, neglected to hear it as you’re more interested in your own perceived injury from me brushing into you.”

“Brushing?” she gasped with a hand to her chest, “No, I do not believe that was the case, you nearly knocked me to the ground.”

“Are you saying you’re inexperienced with strong men?” The grin widened and Rosette could feel herself turning colors as red as the dress that she wore in the promotional photos that hung in the rafters.  

Her head violently shook back and forth while her hair swished against the nape of her neck, “You actors, _mon Dieu_ , you’re all the same. Convinced that your good looks and self-centered personality can get you whatever you want.  Such a pity, but I guess that works for women who have little to no interest in intelligence.”

Rosette anticipated furtherance of anger, but instead was met with a peal of high pitched laughter.  The people around them, who had only raised their eyes to the two, stopped their conversations to watch the fireworks unfold.

“You’re a piece of work—Savageau, right? God bless the MET for working with you, they’re obviously going to need it.” Before she could snap back at him, he grabbed her hand and kissed it; the mischievous twinkle in his eyes never ceased for a moment.

“An absolute pleasure, Miss, and once again, my sincerest apologies for interrupting your stride across the floor. I should have checked the way the cold winds were blowing before I moved. Have a pleasant evening.” With a wink, he headed straight for the bar area she had just left, Rosette’s shock-filled gaze following his retreating form.  She could hear a few snickers around her, and with a deep inhale she held up her head and marched to her P.A.

Said P.A.’s gaze shifted momentarily from his phone to Rosette as she slammed down her empty glass and ordered a fresh one, “Something troubling you, dear?”

“Why do you torture me with coming to these horrid events, Aidan?” Rosette gasped as she dropped her head into her hands. He placed his mobile down and turned to his client, her mossy tinted eyes focused on the green bottle which poured her drink.  

“First, you’re employed by one of the most storied and venerable Opera Houses for the next ninety days and they are paying a handsome salary for your voice. Therefore, when said storied House requests your presence on a night they are hosting a gala for a movie, it only stands to reason since they wish to put their biggest and brightest faces in the crowd to drum up interest for their upcoming offerings.

“Second, you need to be focused and occupied.  You have the propensity to find trouble, or vice versa, unless you’re monitored. Otherwise you’re likely to be engaged in something or someone, and subsequently on Page Six tomorrow.”

“Too late,” she droned before taking a healthy swig of the offered and filled glass before it even touched the wood of the bar.

Aidan’s head dropped back onto his shoulders with a disgusted groan, “Oh, Rosette, what did you do now?”

“That jerk started it! He slammed into me right in the middle of the floor and barely apologized for his actions.  I gave him a piece of my mind.” Aidan’s hand ran through the lopsided curls on his head before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn bottle of antacids.

“Another one of your exes?”

Rosette rolled her eyes before murmuring in the negative, “No, I never met him before.  Fassbender—the star of this stupid movie.” Aidan pulled a second tablet from the bottle and swallowed them back with what she expected was his usual seltzer water.

“Well, we can hope and pray that no one overheard you, and this night can come to a blessed close.  You have work tomorrow and it is imperative that you get your rest.  Call begins at half past ten tomorrow, so I’ll be buzzing you at nine.”

“No need,” she said with a dainty wave of her perfectly manicured hands, “Cara will be collecting me first thing in the morning so I’ll be up bright and early.  Chanel promised to open early for us so we can take a look at the new winter selections before the look books are sent in a week or so.”

Aidan’s voice ran thin, “Rosette.  Call is at ten-thirty, you are not to be late, do you understand me? You and Cara together is a recipe for disaster, especially on your first day of rehearsals.”

Rosette placed her hand on Aidan’s arm.  As young as he was, it lent him to success as her P.A. over many of the elder, more experienced agents.  He had the stamina and guts to handle her at her worst and bring her to the place where she could demonstrate her best. Plus, she was convinced he was the only one at Creative Artists Agency that would be willing to take her on as a client. Rosette feared she played on her last good graces with many of the staff at the various locations.

Moreover, Aidan knew exactly how to end her tantrums and rampages with a single look.  He was, in effect, one of the only true friends she had in the world.

“I got it, half past ten I will be right here, ready and willing and able to strap on my gown and sing a few songs in the morning.  Look,” and she swallowed the rest of her drink in one gulp before wiping her crimson colored lips with her thumb.

“I’m going home, no stops, no side trips to the bar or a club. I will head straight back to my apartment. I’ll grab my laptop and watch another episode of Dancing With The Stars and then it’s right to bed.” Aidan sighed, before his focus returned to his mobile and he tapped the screen.

“Half past ten, Rosette.”

“You got it!” she beamed at his exasperated groan. He shook his head, that slight way he did before he resigned his fate and let her go on her way.  Aidan had immunity to her charms, unaffected by her fluttering eyelashes and seductive smile.  Hence their successful working relationship that lasted over three years.

Rosette hopped away from the bar, and waved him off, her body aiming for the large glass doors which opened out onto Lincoln Center.  However, her gaze might have roamed  to the crowds in front of her, searching for another strike of ginger colored hair.  

With a huff into the warm October evening air, Rosette clicked her heels against the concrete pavement, sliding through the crowds who were waiting out by the ropes and near the fountains for a glimpse of the stars inside.  She focused toward the flow of taxi cabs and streetlights on Broadway and Columbus Avenue, ready to take her back home and to her loft on Charles Street.

* * *

With a languid sigh, Rosette sunk into the plush cushions of the couch in her dressing room.  There were a multitude of flowers already stationed around the massive vanity, which faced onto a smaller dresser area.  Makeup pots and palettes spread out over the white lucite, along with her microphone and earpiece. Although the clock announced it already closing in on dinnertime, she did not feel hungry.  She knew it could be at least an hour or more before she could eat, not any sooner after running through every song in  _Carmen_  at least four times.  Rehearsals equated to a workout that took over her body, not just her vocal chords, which all required rest.

She almost ignored her mobile when it went off, but the familiar chime of Aidan’s ringtone required answering.  Reclining further into the couch, she dragged out the most cheerful greeting she could manage with her voice at that moment.

“Aid–!” but her stopped her from completing his name.

“Don’t.  Just don’t say another word, Rosette.”  _Damn it, he knows._ Rosette complied and remained quiet while the anger seethed through the small speaker as if Aidan stood directly in front of her.

“You promised me last night! I just can’t fathom your decision-making. You didn’t show up to the MET until almost noon?” His voice wavered on the border of hysteria and Rosette bit her tongue to keep from jumping in and trying to soothe him.  A pointless task at this point, as Aidan already sounded close to exploding, which meant something.

“Then, I called Chanel.  The manager told me you two were drinking it up and having a grand old time.  I hope you enjoyed dropping nearly forty thousand dollars, because you’re going to be earning your keep these next few weeks!”

She could hold back no further, and even with her slightly hoarse voice, she snapped back, “The producers could care less! No one batted an eye when I walked in and rehearsals were spotless! We ran through every scene twice and I did not drop a single note.  I heard not one complaint!”

“Because they all were complaining to me!“ he roared into the phone. "I got an earful from both Carmen’s director as well as one of the directors of the MET! They are exasperated, Rosette! I had to promise them before you started that you weren’t going to pull any more of your stunts and between this and last night’s tongue wagging, you’re already in deep water!”

Her hand ran through the loosely curled hair at the nape of her neck before closing her eyes.  It was pointless to argue, as he was entirely correct. As much as she wanted to march upstairs and tell the entire board her mind, it wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t afford to be thrown off a production and she did not want to take the risk that it might happen. Neither her bank account, nor her reputation, could handle that kind of a hit.  

“I’m sorry, Aidan. I am!” she cried as heard him suck in air with fury.  “I’ll be on time from now on, I promise! I’ll even allow you to escort me to and from Lincoln Square.”

The growl that flew from his lips meant this was not to be an easy fix, “Oh, you can bet you’ll be escorted.  But, not by me, not this time. I’ll make sure you have someone that’s keeping you prompt and in the most pristine conditions.  However, that’s still not enough.”  

Rosette closed her eyes as he continued, “I hope you enjoyed this little stunt because it’ll be the last for a good long while.  Next week you had a three day break.  Well, guess what?  You’re on your way to London.”  

She sat up, slamming her hand into the cushions, “What?” she spat and he laughed.  A ripple of heat flashed across her face.

“Good, I’m glad this pisses you off because that means you may indeed change your behavior. You, my dear, will be on your way to London to assist in the BFI festival next week.  

“To make amends to the MET for today’s stunt and to the production company last night for pissing their lead actor off  _in addition to_  the difficulties you’ve sent my way: you’ll be giving a private performance for the cast of Steve Jobs for their European premiere. A perfect way to demonstrate your sincerest apologies while brokering some favor with your bosses.”

Rosette’s dumbfounded look would have pleased her P.A. beyond his wildest dreams but instinctively she knew that her silence more than made up for the lack of a visual, “Good, I’ll take that as agreement.  You’ll be leaving on Sunday morning, performing that night and coming back Tuesday. You’ll be given the day off on Monday due to your, what I can only assume will be, exemplary performance.”

“You-you can’t do this Aidan! All the flying back and for will be murder on my voice! I’ll be a disaster for the show on Wednesday night!”

With a huff, he snarked, “Take some EmergenC and a sleeping pill.  You’ll survive.  You have before and you’ll manage this time around.”

“Private plane?” Rosette asked in a tiny voice, and she growled at the responding laughter.

“Nope.  You can handle first class with the rest of the heathens.” With a heavy sigh, she slid her body down to lie across the couch, the telltale pounding of a headache already taking over the area behind her eyes.

“You brought this upon yourself my dear.  While you’re there, you’ll be right down the road from the Royal Opera House.  Why don’t you go in and visit your old haunt? Maybe say a little novena or two to bring back the good graces and perhaps you’ll be able to return to that stage someday.” His voice, while still mocking her, also hinted on the border of sympathy.  He would be the only one of which Rosette would accept that emotion.

Resignation flowed through her words as her eyes trailed up and down the cream colored walls of her dressing room, “I doubt they’d even let me in the door, Aidan.  But anything’s worth a shot, right?  Just make sure you have everything sent to my tablet and phone.”

“Done and done,” he said, and she sensed the smile that she assumed graced his lips, “Oh, and they want you to sing something familiar, something everyone will recognize. Maybe  _O Mio Babbino Caro_?”

“Sounds like a plan, Aidan,” she murmured, her arm draped over her head as she felt her body sinking into the couch, wishing it would swallow her whole.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosette travels to London where she’s to perform her mea culpa for the cast and crew of Steve Jobs at the BFI Film Festival. Rosette wants nothing more than to complete her task and leave the country. However, Michael is interested in continuing their interactions right where they left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heartfelt apologies for not updating this for two whole months!

One would believe that the Odeon in Leicester Square would have some grand entrance and lobby. The central location in London and marquee for huge events like the British Film Institute’s Film Festival gave it a feeling of immense size and scope. The fact remained that it was just another movie theater.  

Rosette reclined in a nondescript chair in the theater’s multipurposed back area in an attempt to center herself before tonight’s performance.  Along with the minimized orchestra for the night’s festivities, she remained in wait for her private audience.  She could hear the crowds out in the Square, lined up for hours, awaiting the arrival of the actors in _Steve Jobs._

Rosette’s head turned to the uproarious cheers as the announcers welcomed yet another famous face to the red carpet.  She kept telling herself that none of it mattered.  She had been sent back to this godforsaken city, under protest, to complete her mission.  She would sing her songs as her penance and then head back home to the comfort of New York City.  A city where she was at least somewhat welcome.

She tried not to think about the building that sat on the corner only a few blocks away, nestled into the thick of Covent Garden. She lifted her head from her hands, only to graze a large bristled blush against her cheekbones.  However, her mind flashed with images of the lobby of the London Royal Opera House, of her old dressing room and the stage which brought tears to her eyes when she first stood there.

Two years ago she received the pride of every agent, not just her own, at Creative Artists.  The excitement rushed through the halls towards the letter inviting her for an extended run of _Tosca_.  The consecutive nights of celebration, up to her plane leaving for Heathrow seemed to be just the beginning.  

Her eyes fluttered closed as she remembered walking through London, amazed at how much history and beauty nestled in every corner.  Her spirits soared when she thought about how she could find a flat in one of the cute and trendy districts.  Covent Garden was a perfect match to her desires, and meant she would be a few blocks from the Opera House.

 _How it all fell apart in disaster only a few weeks later,_ she mused.  With a shuddering sigh, she put the brush down on the vanity and looked at her hands.  She balled them into fists, waiting for the shaking to subside.  Even the bright crimson nails that matched her dress could not hide the fact that she hated every moment she spent in London. The humiliation and degradation that haunted her for months afterwards rose up as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Headlines flashed in her mind: _“Soprano’s Nights of Booze and Boys”, “Diva an Hour Late and a Voice Short_ ” and the final and brightest of them all: _“Disgraced Singer Told to Never Return to Royal House”._

 _Aidan_.  Aidan was her consolation prize after all that misery, since the Agency had just about enough of her antics. Maybe after everything that happened, it was worth it?  No, in no world was it acceptable for the lead Soprano to be fired after such public disgrace. Even if the Agency bestowed their best and brightest to keep that disgrace in check.

That same name that flashed on her mobile screen at that moment. She took a deep inhale before answering, “Checking up on me?”

“Of course, my dear,” Aidan said, the delight in his voice permeating through the speaker, “What kind of Agent would I be if I didn’t make sure that my favorite singer was happy and content backstage before her performance?”

“I’m here, Aidan. Happy and content, however…”

“Oh, chin up.  You doing this has made me happy to be your Agent once more. In fact, at my last check-up my blood pressure returned to adequate levels.”

She crossed her legs as she twirled a lock of hair, “Why didn’t you come with me this time? I would think if this was such an important mission of goodwill, you would have wanted to ensure my timely arrival and composed presentation for these esteemed guests.”  Her mocking tone only served to prompt Aidan to divulge his present whereabouts.

Her tactic was successful, “Ah, it seems I do have other clients than you, Miss Savageau.  Miss McAdams required some assistance with her newest venture in the movies.”  Rosette made a gagging noise before she laughed.

“Rachel,” she scoffed, “You have to admit, she’s not as fun as I am. Right, Aidan?” The smile returned to her lips as she heard his laughter over the microphone.

“No, Rosette, I can wholeheartedly state that no one gives me a run quite like you do.” He paused for a moment, and Rosette looked into the green flecks that rimmed her eyes before he spoke again, “You’ll be great tonight.  I know it.”

“I’d better, otherwise I think I’ll be paying in blood when I return to JFK in thirty-six hours.” The screaming from outside reached a hysterical pitch, and Rosette could only hazard a guess as to who had arrived at the theater.  

“Oh good, it sounds like the principals have arrived,” Aidan said, hearing the shrieks and screams from his end, “You’ll be up in a few short moments. I’ll let you go prepare.”

“Do you want me to call afterwards? Text you when I arrive back at The Savoy?”

He chuckled, “No, my dear, you’re more than welcome to send me a text when you feel like it.  I trust you.” It was only a brief half second before they both burst into laughter.

“Knock ‘em dead, Rosette,” he said, “Make them wish they had you around some more.”

“I will and thanks again.  See you soon, _mon cher._ ”  She ended the call, his snicker coming through before the line went silent.

“Let’s get this over with,” she murmured to herself before smoothing out the folds of her dress as she rose from her chair.

* * *

“Friends, family and esteemed guests, we are in for a treat this evening!  To close one of the most successful BFI Festivals to date, we are pleased to welcome members of the London Symphonic Orchestra.  They shall now accompany world renowned Soprano, Rosette Sauvageau!”

The representative of the Film Institute waved his hand as the crowd offered their applause. A makeshift stage had been built in one of the corners of the lobby, which now held Rosette and the orchestra behind her.  She held her head high as she strode towards the microphone, the skirts of her red dress flowing behind her.  With a deep inhale to fill her chest, she turned to the conductor and gave a curt nod.  The music swelled, her eyes closed and she waited for her cue.

O mio babbino caro, mi piace, è bello, bello.

_Oh my dear papa, I love him, he is handsome, handsome._

As the violins crescendoed to the second verse, Rosette could feel the eyes of every person in the room on her.  It was a familiar feeling, one she’d experienced on the many nights she sang for private parties and performances.  As her eyes opened again, she could feel the weight of the room against her. Rosette focused on the melody, her hands pressed against her chest as she sang of love.  

This Puccini Aria was one she sang countless times, every note emblazoned into her soul.  She sang the words on a stage to a man who portrayed her father, as she begged to be granted permission to wed her true love. It became such a frequent request, she normally sang the words with no feeling in her heart.  Tonight, however, the words brought up emotions she had not felt in a long time.

Was it the return to London that brought on such feeling? The realization of the loss she suffered during that time? She searched the room for something to focus on, only to find the eyes of the man that brought her to this place.  The last lines were sung to him, as if they could express her anger and frustration as it boiled over.

Mi struggo e mi tormento!   O Dio, vorrei morir! Babbo, pietà, pietà!

_My love for which I suffer,  At last, I want to die.  Father I beg, I beg._

As the song quieted to its end, she slowly dropped her arms to her sides.  The dimmed lights of the lobby were a far cry from the spotlight she normally found, but she made do with her surroundings.  The audience erupted into applause, one wave louder than the next. Michael’s mouth remained in a closed lipped smile, all while his eyes sparkled as they never left Rosette’s body.

For a second, she was lost in his gaze, as air returned to her lungs.  The conductor cleared his throat, prompting Rosette to tear her eyes away with a muted apology. Murmurs for silence overtook the room as she readied for her next selection.

If Aidan felt that this crowd would swoon for the lovestruck tone of _O Mio Babbino_ , then Rosette ensured a fast change of tone in the choice of her second song.  To show off her range, while enlightening the crowd of the dark and desperate annals of Opera, required a certain type of song.  Her second choice, _La Mamma Morta_ would do just that.  

It was the Aria of Maddalena di Coigny, daughter of a noble family from the Giordano Opera: Andrea Chenier. In the song, Maddalena is telling Gérard, one of the rivals for her love, how her mother died protecting her during the turmoils of the French Revolution. Maddalena  almost gave up on life after heartache upon heartache heaped upon her. Maddalena laments how all who loved her ended in despair.  It also happened to be Rosette’s favorite performance piece of all time.

The musicians hit the first note with a resounding pitch, prompting most in attendance to jump from its intensity.  Rosette transformed, her face losing the starstruck awe of a young girl in love to the hardened gaze of a woman who experienced every pain life could bear.  A singular cello played the opening mournful tune as the rest of the strings floated in the background.

La mamma morta m’hanno alla porta della stanza mia…Moriva e mi salvava!

_They killed my mother at the door of my room.  She died and saved me._

Smiles vanished from each of the attendee’s eyes, realizing that the words that poured forth from Rosette’s lips were full of sadness. Her voice raised into a higher octave, the song flowing faster and faster until she hit the crescendo of the High B.  Women gasped and rested their hands against their breasts, the men furrowed their brows at the heartache that floated around them. Her eyes trailed to Michael, his mouth agape, while his eyes lost their glimmer.

E l'angelo si accosta, bacia, e vi bacia la morte!

Corpo di moribonda è il corpo mio.  Prendilo dunque.

Io son già morta cosa!

_And the angel approaches with a kiss, and he kisses death –_

_A dying body is my body.  So take it._

_I am already dead!_

Even those who were unfamiliar with the Aria were affected by the heartbreaking sorrow which permeated through.  Not a soul in the room spoke or moved, truly affixed by the emotions that poured from Rosette. With the end of the song, Maddalena accepts the assistance from the God of Love, to pray that her life would change.  

After those last few notes, the room exploded into applause.

Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.  Rosette held her head high, grateful that the performance was complete.

The associate from the BFI bounded next to Rosette, clapping wildly, “That was magnificent! Magnificent! Please, another round of applause for the London Symphonic Orchestra and the immensely talented Rosette Sauvageau!” Rosette dipped her head and murmured her thanks, a few of the curls not swept behind her neck brushed against her cheeks.  However, as she turned to leave, she felt a hand on her arm.  It was a sensation that felt oddly familiar.

She realized the nature of that sensation when she looked into a pair greenish blue eyes once again, “I apologize Miss Sauvageau, I believe we got off on the wrong foot last week.” The grin spread against his lips, showing more teeth than necessary while he chuckled at his own joke.

“Mister Fassbender.”

“While I thoroughly enjoy the way you say my name that your accent, you can call me Michael.” The grin remained.

Indignation fired up in her chest as his hand remained on her arm.  She longed to yank it away– until she noted the idiotic grin of the man from the BFI lingering at Michael’s shoulder. She forced a smile on her face, batting her thick eyelashes before she spoke.

“Michael, I am so glad you enjoyed the performance. I am sure you need to go inside the theater for the viewing…”

“Oh, no, the movie can wait. I was rather hoping you’d join me for a drink.”

Rosette could feel the words tumbling forth, _I’d rather chew leather, you pompous salaud._ However, the pair of eyes that watched the exchange with intense curiosity almost certainly would be reporting to her bosses at the MET.

Her back teeth ground together as the smile remained, “Why, I would love to. _Michael_.” The hand finally released her arm, only to offer his own.  She could feel the heat flash across her face as she linked in with him while they strode towards the bar.  Thoughts of her silk pajamas and an obscene amount of room service began to disappear from her view.

As soon as they were out of earshot, she hissed, “You did that on purpose! You knew I couldn’t say no.” She wanted nothing more than to slam her heel into this brute’s foot.  However, it was hard to ignore the intoxicating scent of his cologne, which made it’s presence known, and her knees weak.

“That was my hope, Mademoiselle,” Michael said, punctuating his words with a laugh. As soon as they rested against the smooth wood of the bar, he leaned towards her while speaking.

“Gin and tonic for the lady and a whiskey, neat for myself,” he noted to the bartender without dropping his gaze.  Even in her four inch heels, she only came up to his shoulder, and his face dipped dangerously close to the bare skin of her neck.  

“Lucky guess,” Rosette grumbled.

“Educated hypothesis,” he countered and Rosette could no longer hold her eyes as they rolled into the back of her head. A high pitched snicker flew off his tongue as the drinks were served.  

“Come on. No need to be so grouchy,” he whispered into her ear.  She turned her head, not realizing how close his mouth was to her and nearly bumped right into his lips.   _What a faux pas, indeed._

Her eyes narrowed, “You have some nerve.  You get me into trouble at the MET with your complaining when it was all your fault! Then you cause enough grief with my agent to send me here, making me perform like a trained seal for you and all of your friends! To top this all off, you’re torturing me with your continued presence tonight!”

His chest shook in an attempt to hold back his laughter, infuriating Rosette to new heights, “My dear, I hate to break it to you, but it was not me who ratted you out.  In fact, I quite enjoyed our encounter that evening. 

“However, we did have our little moment in front of a few patrons, I would safely assume it was one of them.” His eyes never left her, and with every moment she felt the palpable tinge of nerves creep across her skin.

“Tonight, I was hoping to broker some goodwill between us with a beverage.” He held up his glass to her.

Rosette’s mouth dropped open and closed as he continued, “I actually stopped your venom? I’ll drink to that!” He took a hearty swig of his drink as Rosette focused on the wall of colorful bottles in front of her, downing her own glass as fast as possible. _Let me just get through this drink and I can leave._ However, there was something about him.  Something about this man that made her want to scream, while at the same time making her wonder what his lips tasted like.

“Don’t you need to go inside? Watch your movie?” she managed. With a glance around Rosette found that aside the musicians leaving and a few late stragglers, they were the only ones in the lobby.

“Would you care to escort me? Ensure my safe arrival?” he asked with that ever-present smile.

“I told you before I have no interest,” she finished off her drink, placing it on the smooth wood and pushing it aside.  “And with that drink done, I have fulfilled my obligations.” She waved to the bartender, when Michael’s voice returned, without the humor.

“What is it about me that you don’t like?”

She turned back to him, his brow furrowed as his tongue darted past his lips. For a moment, she felt entranced by it.

With a hand on her hip, and the air changed, Rosette pulled on her never-ending stores of fury, “Because you think you’re just a gift to the world.  That your good looks and never-ending charm can get you anything you want.”

“You really think I’m good looking?”

She gave off a disgusted roar before she turned and walked back to retrieve her belongings.  She nearly crashed into him again as Michael circled around her and blocked her path.  She grumbled as she walked around him, his arms failing out from the sides of his tailored tuxedo.

“You have no interest in giving me a chance, huh, Sauvageau?”

With a laugh, she stopped in her tracks, “Give you a chance? No, Mister Fassbender, it’s quite simple.” Rosette licked her own red-tinted lips before methodically pacing toward Michael.

“Most men never survive a chance with me.”

An eyebrow rose to the heavens as he ran a hand over his ruddy colored stubble, “Oh, but you’re making me want to try.” The baritone of his voice made her pause, right before she let out a curt laugh.

“ _T'as pas de couilles._ Good evening, Michael.” She could feel the heat on her skin, the flush on her cheeks as his unblinking stare never left her body.  

Rosette winked before she turned to walk away, wondering why there was an ache in her chest.  She ignored the tiny piece of her that longed for her banter with him almost immediately.  

Within a few moments, she found her purse and coat in the staging area and she thanked the young man who guarded the back entrance to the theater. It thankfully led onto a small alleyway to Charing Cross Road.  As her heels hit the pavement, she felt the first drops of light drizzle fall on her exposed back and shoulders.  It cooled off her skin, which had become quite warm, and she forced herself to believe it was the drink she downed that was the cause.

Recounting this last meeting with Michael as she walked, she missed the first shout of her name.  She turned to the pounding of footsteps behind her.  Michael, already out of breath, raced right up to a stunned Rosette.

He licked his lips as his hands rested on his hips, “I’m too old to play cute, so just say it.  If you want me to leave you alone and never bother with you again, just say it. But, I need to hear it from your mouth, Sauvageau.”

Her mouth ran dry as the rains began to pick up.  Michael’s tall frame blocked some of the dampness but she could still feel the cool drops tickle her nose and cheeks.  She didn’t realize her back hit the stone wall behind her, but she was thankful for it’s stabilizing presence.

She hated it, but he made her dizzy and her legs weak.  Her mouth went to form the words, to tell him to fuck off and leave her alone.  However, something entirely different came out.

“No. I won’t.”

His mouth perked on one side as her eyes rested on his mouth.  The same mouth that moved forward and crashed against her lips. His strong and heavy hands pulled her into his body and nearly took away her breath with their force. That however, was reserved for his tongue that slid against hers with precision.  She could taste the woodsy hint of the whiskey along with the faint linger of cigarettes.  

Her own hands dug into the short hair on the back of his neck and he moaned against her.  She loved the satisfaction of being the catalyst of that sound and it spurred her own sound of pleasure.  Just as she went to do it again, he pulled away.

“Alleyways in the rain aren’t my thing anymore.  Shall we take this to another destination? A private one perhaps?”

 _Maybe I should be allowed a little fun at his expense, since it’s his fault I’m here.  “_ I’m staying at the Savoy,” she said in an instant.

She expected a witty response but instead she found his lips on hers again, before they moved to her neck and ear.  She gasped at the softness of his tongue in tandem with the coarseness of his stubble.

“Lead the way, my dear,” he murmured in her hair. She thought for a second before her hand grasped his.

Her voice, hoarse and low and almost drowned out by the sounds on the street, returned, “Then, let’s go.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Rosette make it back to her suite at the Savoy where things begin to heat up.

“So…mind if I make us a drink, then?”  The door to her suite closed behind her, bringing a sense of awkwardness to Rosette that felt unfamiliar.  She’d been in this scenario before: hotel room, unfamiliar male, add a dash of alcohol and the evening commenced. Tonight, she felt a tinge of unease, as though the balance which tended to lean in her favor swung the opposite way.

Rosette merely shrugged at his question. Two hours prior, if someone had mentioned the name Fassbender she would have let out a litany of curses in both English and French.  That altercation with him on the carpet at the MET became the deciding factor to send her on this trip to a city she loathed with every fiber of her being.

And yet, here he was, slipping out of a bespoke tuxedo jacket and sliding behind the bar of her suite, as if he owned the place. Her eyes roamed over his body as he searched the shelves for the alcohol he wanted.  In the meantime, Rosette kicked off her heels and lay down on one of the couches, already grateful to be released from her restrictive confines.

He lightly hummed as he unscrewed a cap from one of the many decanters across the bar.  After half a minute, she recognized the notes of   _Mio Bambino Caro._

“The song made that much of an impression on you?” she said in her lilting voice, eyes focused on his broad shoulders.

Ice clinked into a glass, as he ceased the tune, “It was the singer, actually.”  He stopped his actions and looked up, eyebrow in arched position before he poured out the glasses and headed back to her.  Rosette did not move from her position on the couch, rather languidly holding out one of her hands to receive the drink.  

Nonplussed, he moved to the opposite end, picked up her feet and promptly sat down.  Her toes brushed against the tops of his thighs, and she felt the tightness of muscle underneath them.

“Cheers,” he said, before taking a swig.  Rosette looked at her glass to the clear drink. She inhaled the pine aroma, indicating he had remembered once again, that she enjoyed gin and tonics.

Her pause, however, left him open to comment, “Worried about what I put in there? Trust me, not my style.”  His free hand caressed her ankle, gliding up the back of her calf.  The roughness of his fingers contrasted against the smoothness of his palm.  As he moved back down to her skin, she felt tiny pinpricks floating across.

Quickly, she shook her head, “No, just realizing you have quite the memory.”

He shrugged, “I guess I’m not too far off from the man I play on the screen.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she smirked before taking a sip.  His laughter filled the room as his fingers traced circles on her skin.  Rosette found herself becoming more and more distracted by the sensation. His eyes never left hers and with a flourish, she removed herself from his grasp.

He moved his long legs across the cushions and leaned back, “What’s the matter, Savageau? Is it my breath?” Rosette brought the glass to her lips again, taking a long pull of the liquid, in the hopes it would cool her down.  It did not.

“Do you always talk this much?” He irritated her to no end, why in God’s name was he still in her suite? When she turned around and looked at his lean frame, the long fingers tapping against the glass in his hands, she remembered the reasons why.

He sighed, “I talk this much when my companions are quiet.  Unless you’d like me to do something else with my mouth? I can find ways…”   With a groan, Rosette headed back to the bar, searching for the bottle Michael had in his hands.

His voice carried over to her, “Then answer a question for me, Savageau.” After pouring more gin into the glass she crossed the room back to him.  The long train of her dress pooled around her feet like a sea of red liquid.

“Fine,” she said with a wave of her arm, “Go ahead.”

“What exactly did you do to get you kicked out of the Royal Opera House?” The dancing tone of his voice disappeared, replaced by what she could only imagine as true interest.  

The indignation at his question disappeared as she realized, _It doesn’t matter. He could find this information anywhere, but he wants to hear it from me._

Rosette sighed heavily, sitting back on the couch and almost collapsing onto his legs. He managed to swing them out of the way, crossing one over the other as he leaned towards her shoulder.  Her drink rested on the wood side table while she drew patterns with her opposite hand in the jacquard fabric.  

“You want the truth?” She looked up to find him nod ever-so-slightly, “I thought I was the Queen.  Honestly, I could have cut the ego back—and I have since—but then, there were too many people around me who didn’t care about me. They flocked to my side just for who I was and the fact I was somewhat famous.  

“I could get into any of the clubs, score the best seats and was always handed the top shelf _anything_.  Champagne flowed wherever I went, Mayfair had an open door policy for me.  Which brings lots of people to your side, wanting to have a taste, a part of you.  However, none of them really knew me, or what I wanted.  So, I tried to find that with the people around me.  I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced it, but alcohol can cause auspicious decision making.”

Instead of the loud laughter she anticipated, Michael merely huffed through his nose and nodded with a sage expression.  They linked eyes, his silent affirmation for her to continue.  Her head felt heavy, so she rested it against the plush cushions behind her and waited.

When her thoughts cleared, she continued, “I thought I was invincible.  Youngest ever to land a lead Soprano, my face was everywhere—every red double decker and tube station in London. The Opera began when I walked in, so everyone could wait, right?  Who cared if my voice cracked at rehearsals, it would be perfect by showtime.  Until the times that it wasn’t.” She took another drink as she realized he inched closer.  He propped up his arm on the back of the couch, resting the side of his head against his hand.  The movement made him look even bigger as he sat next to her, prompting her breaths to pick up just a little.

“One too many of those nights of too much drinking, being up too late with the boy of the night and missing my call the next morning made the Board a bit agitated. They reprimanded me, saying I needed to get my act together.  However…”

“You were determined to make a statement, eh?” he murmured.  

“Invincible, remember? I would knock their socks off at opening night.  Except, alcohol isn’t good for the vocal cords.  Too many nights of it can cause laryngitis, and when you’re rocking out at three am with some random rock band.  Which is exactly what happened before opening night.”

He sucked in air through his teeth as his eyebrows went up.  Rosette could only shrug, with the memories two years in the past, she’d almost been able to put it behind her.

“When the understudy is asked to fill in on the first night of the Fall production with every publication in London and all the major cities in Europe in the house, you’ve worked your last nerve. The next morning I was told to pack up the apartment I had within forty-eight hours and get the hell out.” The silence permeated the room, weighted heavily with the thick air between them.  

His fingers captured a lock of her hair, twirling it around his fingers before he spoke, “Coming back here must have pissed you off something fierce.”  

She turned back to those green eyes that never left her body, “You have no idea.”  She grew quiet again, enjoying every brush of his fingers on the bare skin of her shoulder.

“See, I don’t believe in coincidence,” he said, breaking the silence once again.  “After that night at the MET, I couldn’t get your voice out of my head. It annoyed me to no end, because after all, you worked my last nerve that evening.”

Her mouth dropped open as he laughed, “Even so, I wanted to look you up and at least apologize again for our bump—“

“ _Collision--_ that you created,” she monotoned.

“We’ll agree to disagree on that?” Michael snarked back. “As I was saying, I wanted to apologize.  Contrary to your belief, I do not usually find myself in altercations with gorgeous women at my premieres.  Nevertheless, it happened.

“However, much to my surprise, I receive the loveliest of phone calls the following day.  It’s my agent telling me that the woman who so rudely accosted me at the MET is flying to London to sing for me and the rest of the cast! Well, how can I say no to this wonderful occasion? And fate has shined once again as I have my opportunity in hand.”  Rosette felt her eyes widen as Michael slid to the floor in front of her, propped up on one knee as he grasped her left hand in his.  

“My dearest Miss Sauvageau, may I bestow my sincerest apology at the events that took place last week? The profound contrition I have at this moment goes beyond the depths of my soul.” She managed a giggle as his eyes shimmered again, the crinkles at his eyes deepening.

“I would never have wanted to make our reunion on such auspicious terms.  However, I do hope you could accept my regrets.” His eyes remained on her as his lips pressed into the skin of her hand.

Under his gaze, Rosette could not have declined him, even if she wanted to, “I accept, Mister Fassbender.”

“God, I love the way you say my name. The R’s just roll off your tongue like a symphony. Hey, look at that, I made a pun!” She laughed some more, a bit of the tension broken as he slid closer to her legs, closing the distance between their mouths.

“I have some ideas as to how I could continue my regrets…” he trailed off as his breath danced across her cheeks. Her hand instinctively went to his hairline, feeling the coarseness of the stubble underneath.  

“What would that entail?” she whispered, breathless from his proximity to her lips.

“Many, many enunciations of my name. Saying my last name is lovely, but when you say _Michael_ it makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.  I want to hear you say it as long and as loud as you’d like.” She watched his chest rise and fall within the confines of his white tuxedo shirt, willing her fingers to hold back one more second before she reached for the buttons.  After all, this scenario in her suite was about her having some fun at this man’s expense, wasn’t it?

Unimpressed by his bravado, her lips curled into a mocking smile, “What makes you so sure that you can produce such a response from me?”

“I told you before Sauvageau—you make me want to try.  And when I’m motivated…” he trailed off as his fingers slid up her thighs, fingers splayed to cover more ground.  She swallowed hard as his eyes remained on hers.

“…I am entirely devastating.”  His voice dripped like honey and she knew the battle between curiosity and antagonism towards him ended.

 _Oh, what the hell_ … Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward a few centimeters, “Challenge accepted.” The smile reappeared on his face before he captured her lips again, and then again, his tongue dipping in and out of her mouth.  He explored her body with his hands and then his lips, moving down her neck and to the open slips of skin on her collarbone and neck. His fingers threaded across her sides and legs, like he was memorizing every inch. When he nipped at the skin of her neck, she released a small gasp, and he repeated the action.  

She could feel his lips smile as he lifted back to her mouth, adjusting from his kisses becoming hard and fast to slow and gentle. The actions made her dizzy, drugging her by taking away her breath. Rosette remembered their earlier kiss in the alleyway, and her fingers gripped against the hairs of his neck, once again prompting a low moan into her mouth. The vibration sent shivers down her chest.  He pressed his body in between her legs, kneeling in front of her.

They stayed like this, kissing and roaming hands over the other’s body. Rosette realized he had extreme patience and control. Most men would have yanked her over to the bedroom, or vice versa.  However, Michael seemed intent to learn the rhythm of her body, as his fingers slid to the back of her dress, deftly unpinning the ties and unfastening the buttons.  

Rosette roused from the haze, pushing him from her. With shaking hands she unbuttoned his shirt while he went for the cuffs.  The smirk in his eyes never left, accompanied by a hunger she had not noticed before.  She pulled away from him, standing back up in her dress before sliding it down her body—revealing a thin set of lace undergarments.  

Michael remained on the floor, never taking his eyes off her body as his shirt joined her dress.  With one arm he guided her back to him, his mouth level with her stomach, and he laced his tongue around her navel. She raked her fingers through the top of his head, feeling him tighten his grip on her hips as he traced the lines that dipped downward. He played with the lace, running his fingers underneath before his hands moved to her behind. When Michael’s mouth moved lower, Rosette gasped again, her legs trembling under his touch.  

“Michael,” she hissed and he sighed.

“So lovely,” he whispered against her skin before his mouth pressed between her thighs, only heightening the ache which flooded her body.  He kissed and teased her skin, still covered by the slip of lace, his tongue flicking against her. Seconds from ripping the offending garment off, he slid it down to the floor.  She anticipated the return of his mouth to her skin, but he released her body and stood back up, savagely claiming her lips once more.

Her arms looped around his neck, mainly to keep herself from collapsing to the floor. His movements against her body, his tongue, his lips, his hands, all in time with each other made her feel not only light-headed but flush with desire.  His fingers found her last slip of clothing, discarding her bra to pay attention to her breasts.  

The same meticulous precision he had with the rest of her body continued, as he caressed one breast with his hand and the other was captured by his mouth.  Each time he flicked his tongue against the sensitive flesh, Rosette could only hold back a moan, until he hit a spot and she let the sounds loose.  When the ache became too much, instinctively he moved to the other, still keeping one arm around her to remain upright.

His teeth grazed against a tight peak, and she gasped his name again. His green eyes met hers and with one arm, he picked her up and her legs wound around his waist.  She could feel the hardness through his tuxedo pants, which had remained on the entire time. There was no time for her to think, while he moved them into the bedroom with such speed that she found herself on top of the soft duvet in seconds.  His body soon followed atop hers, back to her mouth, hands in the curls on her side of her head, both gasping and desperate for air.

Her hands roamed down the muscles of his chest, down his stomach which twitched under her fingers.  She went for his belt, before his hands moved onto hers.

His voice was hoarse as he inhaled, “Not yet, I only heard my name twice. That’s not enough.”   He slid down her body before his mouth rested in between her legs, sending shockwaves of pleasure down her legs and up her chest. Hands wound into the other’s, Rosette’s head pressed deep into the duvet, searching for air.

 _That tongue,_ she managed to think before it teased and tantalized her folds, dipping inside of her before moving to her sensitive nub. Her eyes closed tight as she looped her leg over his shoulder.

“Michael,” she moaned and he hummed in appreciation. She did it again and was rewarded with his fingers sliding inside her, prompting a shriek and accompanying moan.  The combination of the sensations of his fingers deep inside her, grazing against the spot as his tongue flowed over her aching skin, made her forget her own name. She felt herself winding tight, as pressure built on every flick and pull.  Her sounds became louder, and longer—but she could care less, she had not felt this way with a man in ages.

She knew she was close, her breaths rushing into each other, “God, Michael, _please_ ,” she begged.

His actions sped up, paying healthy attention to every spot that curled her toes.  Right before she could feel herself falling off the cliff, her body tightened around his broad shoulders, his hands holding her against his mouth.  

“Say my name, Rosette,” he ordered, right before she was about to explode.

“Michael!” she yelled and he returned, the rush of pleasure hurtling her right over.  She responded with several more praises of his name to the heavens, and most of her neighbors on the accompanying floors.  While her body stilled, he moved back up to her, kissing her neck and collarbone, running his warm lips over the shell of her ear.

“You say my name as I anticipated, just like a song,” he murmured as he pulled her body flush to his. Foggy from her high, she nodded absentmindedly until he kissed her again.   The salty, sweaty flavor mingled between them and she grasped at his body to bring him closer to her.

“Still not enough,” he said against her skin. Rosette went for his belt buckle, hoping to finally unrestrained him from the confines of his pants.  He assisted her with taking them off, hopping off to the front of the bed to toss them onto a chair before he did the same as she: standing before her, completely naked.

She knew what he looked like naked, having seen several of his movies. But it was nothing as compared to his body in all it’s glowing form in front of her.  He looked into one of his pant pockets with a furrowed brow, and she sat upright.

“Condom,” he murmured and she flung her hand to the nightstand and pulled out a bag. His visage changed to impressed as she pulled one out, adjacent to her nightcream.  

“Always prepared,” she mused and he climbed back onto the bed while she tore open the wrapper.  Once set, his hands roamed back over her smooth, alabaster skin as he settled in between her legs.  Using that control that impressed her beyond imagination, he did not immediately thrust into her, rather running himself up and down her slit, heightening her senses while they kissed.

She realized, he was waiting for her, waiting for her to confirm that she wanted him in every way possible.  Rosette ran her tongue up the side of his ear, “ _Please, Michael_ ,” making sure she said his name with all the lust she could conjure up in her state.

His tongue found hers as he buried himself deep inside her.  She gasped under his weight, adjusting to the sensation of being filled completely. He controlled his movements, although how still remained unknown to her, as he kept his thrusts slow, patient.  He built their pleasure up together, guiding himself slowly, inch by inch, before sliding out.  Rosette could merely hold onto his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist, feet sliding up the muscles of his legs.

“Rosette,” he hissed in her ear, and she loved how he said her name as much as she gasped his.  She met his hips in time, guiding him in deeper on the thrusts, increasing their speed.  The whines and moans that flew from her lips escaped only when he released them.  He seemed intent on remaining there, drinking her in while he ground his body onto her.

Every shallow breath she took matched his as he grunted and moaned.  She bit her lower lip hard as he bucked faster into her, feeling it swell as her back arched off the bed.  Her hands pulled his neck to kiss him once more and with a push, she guided him onto his back. She scrambled her body back onto him, gliding him back inside her with a chorus of sound.

He matched her rhythm, his fingers gripped into her thighs and hips as she thrust her hips against him.   A few choice curses flew off his lips and his teeth ground as she felt his body shaking with hers.  One hand flew to her breasts, the other of his to her center and he flicked his thumb to her nub, the rushing sensation almost at release.

“Rosette,” he groaned, “Sing for me, love.”

“God, Michael!” she shrieked, and her head dipped back to her shoulders before she felt the cord snap. Her cries pushed him to climax and he let himself go, losing control in his release just as Rosette voice echoed throughout the rooms.  She was sure she hit a few of the higher notes of Carmen in that moment, while Michael panted for air as they both stilled.  

Rosette collapsed against his heaving chest, feeling the perspiration from them mingle together.  Her eyes closed, the euphoric high dissipating through her veins.  She was lost for a moment, this kind of night was few and far between, and she held onto this moment as long as possible.

His hands gliding over her back and arms, into her hair, roused her from her thoughts, “That was beautiful.  I must say, you sound so similar on stage. I’ll think of that every time I see you perform.” He laughed as his joke as she slid from his body.  

Still breathing heavily, she sighed, “It’s not too dissimilar.  The high from singing produces the same emotions.” Her voice trailed off, her body already growing cold. Her eyes trailed to his body, glistening in the dimmed lights of her room.  Prepared for his escape, she curled into the duvet, sighing into her pillow.

Instead he turned on his side towards her, “I was wondering…”

“Already? Christ, your brain is like a machine,” she intoned as he chuckled.  His hand ran up her arm, spreading its warmth before he rested it on the side of her face.

“I know of a great place that does an amazing breakfast.  What do you say? A mimosa and some eggs before you prepare to leave this dreaded city behind? I would hate to know that you were all alone tomorrow, feeling entirely despondent.” The gentle teasing raised her aggravation, but the idea of company before she left did sound enticing.  Otherwise, she’d have spent the day trudging through the city and staying far away from Covent Garden.

The concerns at him saying quieted long enough for her to manage, “Sounds good.” Her eyes closed before his hand moved down to her thigh and rested there, just as his breaths evened out. Rosette followed him, a moment thereafter.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their night together, Michael and Rosette find themselves wondering what will happen next. Neither can agree on much in the haze, even on breakfast.

“This place has a limited menu, but that’s just because they only serve breakfast this early. If you want something specific, I happen to be somewhat famous.  I also know the chef and I’m sure he can whip you up whatever you’d like. Of course, I would have to recommend anything with waffles.  They’re quite delicious.”

Even when Michael talked about food, it seemed as if he’d pounce and tear open his prey.  His teeth remained hidden, but the unbridled glee in his eyes would give anyone pause.  Rosette glanced back at the menu for Duck and Waffle before turning to her right.  

The restaurant had amazing reviews for the food, but the main attraction was its location on the 40th floor of the Heron Building. The entire landscape of London, from North of the Gherkin, spread out in front of her.  The view was unparalleled, even compared to the rooftop of the Shard, where one either had to pay through the nose for entrance or buy overpriced drinks for the pleasure.

Here, she could sit back, sip her cappuccino and watch the hustle and bustle of the city below in relative peace.  She wondered how they were able to enjoy a meal without fanfare, and Michael’s explanation cleared up that question.  They sat on the far right of the restaurant, which was small and yet intimate in the scope of the view.

With a sigh longer than necessary, she looked up into his green blue eyes, “I’m not a big fan of breakfast.”

Michael’s lips curled while his brow furrowed, “Not like breakfast? How is that possible? Everyone loves breakfast, it’s the best damn meal of the day. You can eat whatever you want—duck for example—along with ice cream, and no one would think the wiser! There’s always coffee and then fruit and juice.” He appeared entirely offended by this fact.

Rosette merely shrugged, allowing him to continue his tirade, “I think you just don’t like getting up in the mornings.” He pushed his nose back into the menu and she narrowed her eyes.

“No, I don’t. I also don’t appreciate people who find it necessary to pounce all over me so early to make it necessary.”

He chuckled and she jumped ahead before he let off another cute remark, “I have to leave here tomorrow.  Sleep is vital to the well being of my voice.”

“So’s food.  Decide what you want, Savageau.” Rosette shook her head and looked over the menu, even though she knew her selection five minutes prior.  Her eyes rested on the man in front of her, for the first time in something other than a tuxedo.  A leather jacket that had seen the world along with a pair of crisp jeans suited him for the early hour.

“I have to say your PA must be paid well.  To come across the city of London with a fresh change of clothes and shave kit? Either that, or she’s had experience in the matter.”

Michael only laughed at Rosette before he looked up to the waiter who was about to leave.  Placing his order of Ox Cheek Benedict on top of—what else—a waffle, Rosette decided on English Cherries with yoghurt ice cream and white chocolate on top of hers.  Michael reclined in his chair before he sipped his espresso.

“I would call it a little of column A and a little of column B. She’s amazing, and yes if I happen to not make it home with her, she’s usually ready to lend me a hand.” He trailed off, unabashedly gazing over the open areas of Rosette’s skin on her shoulder in her offset gray dress.

“I was hoping to join you in while you took that shower that seemed to go on for ages, however…”

“I locked the door,” she said, accompanied by a sweet smile and a tilt of her head.  

He rubbed his chin as he laughed under his breath, “My penance for the enthusiastic alarm of my hands on your body? Shame, I had hopes.  Ah, no matter, a woman needs her time to prepare. I found things to do.”

He left out the fact that Rosette nearly fell over when she found out he was still in her suite.  She had to forcibly hold back a scream to find him on his mobile, spread out on the couch. She had expected she’d find a message at the desk saying he needed a raincheck on the meal.  Or maybe a poorly scripted note on hotel stationery stating he had a great time and they should get together again when they were in the same postal code.

Last thing she thought was that he would still be there, changed and up for a meal with her.  She was alone in her thoughts until he poked through them.

“I figured you wouldn’t mind the view if we were positioned away from Covent Garden.  You like it?” _Did she note a hint of concern in his voice?_

“It’s fine. If I’m honest, I do not harbor any ill will towards the entirety of London.  I spent many years here before my brief but tumultuous tenure.”

“You did?” He thanked the waiter for the fresh espresso as another waiter appeared with their food. She smiled while focusing back on his eyes.

“I studied at a few conservatories in France before I went to the Royal College of Music. It’s all the way on the other side of town, by where Wills and Kate live.  Initially, I learned to play the piano in addition to singing.”

“I did not know that. Surprises abound.”

“Please,” she monotoned as the ridiculous smells of their food wafted past her nose, “Like you didn’t look me up.”

“I could say the same for you.” He pointed his fork at her and once again a silence hit the table.  However, it never felt uncomfortable, just time between their words.  Her usual need to leave mid-meal and escape from annoying and banal conversation never entered her mind.

Between bites he grinned, “Think I could get a private concert one day?”

“Didn’t you get one last night?”

His voice dipped quite low, “Oh, I most certainly did. I’d love to hear it again, but I wont press my luck today.  After all, still have a great deal more daylight to go.” He winked and while she could feel her aggravation rise, she enjoyed the flutter in her chest that came along with it. She took a scoop of the cherries and yoghurt and instantly closed her eyes in response. Heaven in one bite.

He smacked his knee as every one of his teeth shone in his smile, “See? I told you! Everyone loves breakfast!”

* * *

Rosette stood beside the cab, her large sunglasses covering the raised eyebrow that reflected her disbelief at Michael.  He was busy paying and thanking their driver, and ignoring his companion.  She huffed, loudly, but much to her chagrin, Michael merely smirked at her.

She growled, “Don’t you worry about being seen? Reporters following you wherever you go?” Even with her his cap pulled low, and the collar of his leather jacket pulled high, a photographer could easily recognize them.

He held out his elbow, silently waiting for her to loop her arm into his so they could begin their walk along the embankment. The air had retained some of it’s chill, but with a sun high above London, the area began to grasp onto some warmth. Rosette cursed the high heels she wore, realizing it meant she would need to keep attached to Michael for her balance.  A gust caused the skirt of her dress to curl around her thighs and she pressed it downward.  Michael never held back the unabashed stare at her legs before his eyes crept back up to their more appropriate position.

He grinned before striding forward, “No. I don’t care.  Let them take photos and ask ridiculous questions. I’ve found the more you just placate them, the faster they leave you alone.  They get their shot, I can be in peace.” His hair appeared almost bright red in the sunlight and the whiskers on his chin and lip took on the same hue.

“So sage and wise.  A benefit of old age?” she snarked.

His breathy chuckle flashed across his face, “It’s how I’ve always been.  I can’t get myself too involved in all of this. Celebrity is fleeting, it’s all about who is the newest and the brightest in that second.  Today I’m the hot news, tomorrow, no one will care.

“If you can’t stay grounded in all of this, then it all gets to your head.”  As the words left his mouth, Rosette let out a dry chuckle and he stopped walking.  

“I’m sorry—“

“No, please, I’m sure you’ve said that line a thousand times, in a thousand different interviews,” she murmured, removing herself from his grasp and walking ahead.

“Rosette—“

“Michael, don’t bother apologizing.  We discussed this last night, I made my mistakes.  Time to move on.” She kept walking, groaning over the fact that the Savoy remained so far away.

“Well,” he said, rushing back and taking her arm once more, “I’ll remember for next time.”

“Next time? Why, Mister Fassbender, I must tell you, while I am having an enjoyable day after a productive evening, I’ll hold off on considering return engagements anytime soon.”

His voice strained a little, “Why?”  They never stopped walking, but his feet moved him ahead of her.  He turned to keep his eyes on her while she kept hers forward.

“You want me to spell it out for you? Okay.” She stopped walking, allowing others to move around them as they flanked the Thames.  A few boats were already sailing by them and the gardens filled up with patrons, ready to enjoy the last bites of warmth in London.

“I’m not some silly girl with stars in her eyes.  I’m a woman who has been down this road more times than I care to count in my past.  I don’t have any fantasies about you suddenly throwing your life aside to be at my side. I certainly don’t see the opposite happening either.  I have no belief that this one night between us is going to be the start of something.

“The fact is, I work and live in New York.  You are an actor running around the world, promoting a film that’s slated for the Oscars.  Those paths? Don’t cross often. And the last thing I am is some port you think you can come into whenever you’re in town.” She began to walk again and he kept at her elbow.

“I wouldn’t think that way of you and I’m not talking about forever, Savageau…”

“Oh please, don’t insult me, Michael.  There doesn’t need to be a promise of other tomorrows within the next week or year.  Call this what it is and be done with it.”

He sprinted ahead and stopped in front of her, causing her to nearly crash into him—again.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, eyebrow raised and voice readying for a fight.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she said, trying her hardest to sound convincing, “Like I said, I can see things for what they are, and I see what this is.” Her hands flared out from her sides, and she could see people stopping around them as this had turned into a bit of a scene.

“We had fun, end of story. I think we’re both mature enough to agree on that.” She continued to walk away and saw that the entrance to the back of the Savoy was only a few meters ahead.  However, Michael’s voice finally gave her pause.  He was rooted to the spot but his words carried to her.

“Sometimes, you have to take a chance! You never know what’s around the corner!” She stared at him as he bowed from the waist and then walked the opposite way.  She watched his broad shoulders and powerful stride stand out through the crowds until he disappeared from her sight. With a sigh she headed through the brightly colored gardens towards the entrance to the Savoy.

* * *

As the door closed behind her, Rosette tossed her shoes in the corner before crossing to the bedroom. She paused to look at the bed, and flashes of Michael next to her, on top of her, all around her, danced in her mind.  She felt the pull of disappointment that the maid had been in to fix up the room. She almost pulled back the duvet to check if the sheets were changed, and if they still retained the hint of his cologne.  

Almost. _Better this way, no reason to fuss about.  He’s on his own, I’m on my own.  Period, end of story._

That gnawing, the feeling when she walked away from him at the Odeon Theatre crept into her skin once more.

 _The last thing I need is some stupid romance._ With a huff, she went into the bathroom and threw on the taps for a long bath.  She was given this room for the extra time to recuperate before her return home.  She would use it for all it’s worth.  While stripping off her dress, she heard two chimes from her phone on the marble counter.  Half naked, she walked over expecting to see a text from Aidan.  She would be wrong.

_Couldn’t leave you without saying thank you for the lovely evening and morning.  You’re not so bad, Savageau.  Maybe someday you’ll think the same way about me._

_But in case of emergency, call this number.  I rather love hearing your voice in person, but phone calls and FaceTime sessions can work just as well. xo Michael_

She rested her mouth in her palm as she read his words, realizing he went through the trouble to get  her number to send them.  

 _Persistent when he wants something, that’s for sure._  She tapped her finger against the side of her phone, weighing the costs and benefits of what she wanted to do.

Just like her decisions the night before and this morning, she rushed ahead without thinking too much.  She saved his number into her contacts, ensuring she would not lose his number.  At least, without trying.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Rosette returns to NYC, she gets both exciting and interesting news from her P.A., Aidan. After searching for ways to celebrate, she decides on one vice she swore she had left behind in London. NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations for your reading ease ;)
> 
> Tu me gonfles-- You’re pissing me off  
> Je suis niqué-- I’m fucked  
> Sláinte-- Congrats (Irish)

 

There is a sensation, a rush--if one will, that happens at the end of an Opera. The moment after standing in front of nearly four thousand people as they all explode into applause after the last note is sung.  How at that moment all the emotions produced and spent in the past three and a half hours by the actors are rewarded with cheers and ovations.  

Rosette loved that moment, loved the thrill and the rush it gave her on each and every night she performed.  She knew, it was her drug—the one musicians and actors find when they are in front of a crowd.  It was an adrenaline high, plain and simple, and she craved it every night of a show.  

As her latest night came to an end, she laughed along with her co-stars as they headed off the stage and escaped to their respective rooms.  Rosette looked up to find Aiden waiting for her, smiling as he watched her cross over to him .

“Hello, dear.  You were magnificent,” he beamed before pulling her into a hug.  Rosette pecked his cheek twice before heading into the bathroom of her dressing room.  

While she peeled off her gown, she called out, “I do enjoy when you stop by, Aidan. But, you should have told me you were coming, I could have made sure you had proper seats and a drink at your seat.” With a swish, she pulled her dressing gown together and coasted back towards her vanity. She hoped that her setting powder would keep her face long enough to get her home where she could scrub off the heavy makeup needed for her performance.

He reclined back on her couch before running a hand through the curls on his head, “Oh, that’s never a problem.  I just tell them who I am and _voila_ , I have a scotch and soda and I’m seated up in the front. I have finally found some good graces in this business.” She shook her head in amusement as he continued.

“In the hopes this doesn’t jinx anything, I have to tell you that this has been one of the most successful performances you have had since we’ve worked together. Ever since London, I have seen you work harder and better for this show, as if you were on a mission to prove yourself.  Not that you needed to, of course, but it is quite the sight to behold.”  His eyebrow perked just enough.  Rosette could only smile to herself before placing her sponge down to face him fully.

“You taught me a lesson, and a good one at that.  I know now never to cross my P.A. lest he ship me off half way around the world again.”

Aidan chuckled, the one that sounded as if it was caught in the back of his throat before his voice dropped, “Had nothing to do with your choice of company while you were there?”

This time the laugh came out of Rosette before she leaned towards him, “Ah, okay.  Go on, how’d you find out?” She knew it could be a possibility he’d hear about it, someone easily could have seen Michael and her that morning.  Aidan never mentioned it, however, so Rosette believed she’d gotten away with one.  A big one at that.

Aidan never held back from Rosette, “Well, P.A.s do talk in the business.  We DM each other on Twitter, didn’t you know that?” Rosette huffed and he got up from the couch, straightening his suit jacket.  
  
“I knew about the London escapade, but you dove right into work, so far be it from me to chastise you.  There was no mention of him coming to New York, I heard nothing of either of you contacting each other, so I figured, ‘Hey, she had fun.  Good for her, set her straight.’”

He was right.  There had been no contact between them almost six weeks later.  However, that did not mean Rosette had not thought about the possibility of that contact.  That did happen, and on a frequent basis.  

However, the work was more important, and she saw that once she came home. Singing, preparation, it could take up her life if she wanted and she didn’t have much to speak about outside of her day-to day at the Met.  Routine proved good for her, she kept telling herself that.

Rosette forgot to keep her face still, as Aidan crossed the room and dropped to one knee, catching her eye, “Hey. This is a good visit, don’t think otherwise.” He paused as his head tilted up, scanning her face.

“Unless, you really liked him?” His eyes remained on her, looking for clues that only he could determine.

Rosette shook her head before rising from her chair, “Absolutely not. You’re right, it was a one time thing. It’s done and over with and like you said, this is more important than some fling or whatever right now.  My career is more important.”

He paused before responding, taking his time with his words, “Good.  That’s what I was hoping you’d say.  Because that’s exactly why I am here.”  He rose back to his feet, his smile widening as he let his true purpose out of the bag.

His arms spread out from his sides, “The Met is so happy with you, they want you back for the Spring series. Another ninety day run.”  

She gasped, running over and wrapping her arms around his neck, “You’re kidding! Back to back shows here in New York?”

He nodded, as he picked her up off the floor, “Yes, dear, you did it! I’d say when this closes, you’re back at the top of your game again.” He held her by the shoulders as the thoughts raced through her head.  

“Did they discuss which production or the role with you?” Her heart beat a little faster as she waited for his response.  

When his smile appeared again, she knew she’d hit big, “Tosca…as Tosca.”

She gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth as she fell into her chair.  Aidan found this terribly amusing, hands on his hips, but pride in his eyes.

She struggled for words, “You… you’re kidding.  This…”

“…is incredible? A huge feat from someone who could barely get hired a year prior? The only opera you’ve never heralded before? Yeah, all those things.

“Now, I am going to say this, and I hope I’m not shooting myself in the foot.  I think you should celebrate.” As Rosette’s mouth opened to scream, Aidan cut her off.

“Ah! I am doing this because I am so, so proud but don’t make me lose those good graces, okay? You’ve earned this, don’t—“

“Give me credit, Aidan.  I know, I know.” She turned to look for her phone to text a few people. This night called for champagne, and dancing. She didn’t notice him pacing in his feet, inhaling before he spoke once more.

“One other thing, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Rosette half heard him as she scanned through her contacts, “Single? Rich? Good accent? I need all of those if we’re going this route.”  Her three favorite party-pals found, she sent the message: _Who’s up for champagne tonight? Drinks on me!_ Once it swooshed as sent, she looked up to see that his smile had not lost its glimmer.

“Well, all those things are part of her charme, but I don’t think she’s your type.” Rosette’s arms fell to the side as she waited for the next surprise.

He placed his palms up before he spoke, “She’s a friend of mine that’s great at helping people.”

“A shrink?” Rosette shrieked while Aidan kept his hands up, head shaking in the negative.

“No, no, she’s more like a life coach.  She has a great way of putting things together and helping you reach your maximum potential.  I can’t say more about her other than she knows her stuff and knows celebrities. She’s done some amazing work with them.”

Rosette firmly pinched the bridge of her nose before her tone went harsh, “You just came here to tell me how well I am doing, how proud you are of me. _Tu me gonfles;_ I should have known.  The hell, what is this? A ‘coach’? More like a babysitter, isn’t she?” She dropped her phone onto the vanity before Aidan sighed.

“You are doing so well, and I want to see you continue that.” He stopped, as if looking for the right words before he came out and blurted, “This has happened before, you’ve gone to the top and then that’s when you came flying down like Icarus grazing the sun.” He crossed the room and held her forearm, while Rosette refused to catch his gaze.

“I want to you burn brighter than the sun.  You, of everyone I know, can do that! I’m concerned that history has a way of repeating itself.” Rosette remained silent, her anger brewing inside her like a cauldron.  

Aidan waited for a beat and then dipped his head, “I am so happy for you. Please don’t forget that, hmm? Go out and enjoy tonight.  You deserve it.”  He rocked in his heels, before crossing her dressing room. A tense silence choked the room and with one last look back, Aidan closed her door.

Rosette merely sighed, as the chime on her phone drew her out from her thoughts.  It only made the situation worse.  

_Can’t tonight doll, have a shoot at 8am!_

_I’m not in NYC, when I’m back-promise!_

_Plans already for tonight, sorry_

She shut off her phone and threw it in her purse, quickly grabbing her clothes so she could head home and sulk in peace.

* * *

 

Rosette tried every trick she knew.  She opened a bottle of champagne she had stored in the back of her refrigerator since she bought her apartment two years earlier.

She dumped an entire bottle of Kiehl’s bath bubbles into her tub, filling it almost to the rim.

Breaking her own rule, she made the cab driver stop at an all night grocery and bought a handful of chocolate bars to bring home and eat while she lay in the bath.

Finally, the iPlayer belted out some of her favorite French music, echoing off the walls of her marble palace.

None of it worked.   Agitation flowed through her veins making her unable to relax.  The focus of her emotions rotated from Aidan, to her non-existent friends, to herself.  In the end, it was her own doing that caused Aidan to make this decision, and her own past life choices which formed the circle of people who hung on her.

Her bubble coated arm draped out of the tub, reaching for her glass while watching the lights flicker on the buildings surrounding her building.  Her playlist changed over, the songs from Tosca pouring forth from the speakers.

The song of Tosca, _Vissi D’arte, Vissi D’amore_ began to play.  

_I lived for art, I lived for love,  
_ _I never harmed a living soul!  
_ _With a discreet hand  
_ _I relieved all misfortunes I encountered._

“Perfect,” she grumbled, sinking further in the bubbles.  She had no one to share this with, no real friends to speak of. Aidan was a professional contact. Her family, well…she was not about to call them.  Another face came to mind.

_No.  No.  That is not a good idea.  Calling him would be a mistake.  I went almost six weeks since him and haven’t made contact. This is good, staying away makes sense.  He’s nothing but trouble._

Every time she told herself that, she transported back to her room at the Savoy.  Visions of Michael’s hands on her skin, his lips on hers and his body on top of her filled her mind. Even at that, she remembered her moments with him at breakfast, their conversation, walking together.  She craved that again, and wanted it more than ever.

 _“Je suis niqué,”_ she growled as she dried off her fingers and scanned her contacts on her phone.  The time was close to midnight, although she had no idea where in the world he was at that moment.   _Maybe, just maybe, he was in the city?_ Her stomach turned with each trill of the line.  It dropped further when it clicked to go live.  

His voice was raspy and rough and she had to hold back a moan on instinct, _“Well, well, this is a lovely morning treat. How are you, Sauvageau?”_

“Morning? Where am I finding you, Mister Fassbender?”

She heard a groan, as if he was moving into a more comfortable position, _“Oh, I’ve told you before, you should really call me Michael.  My dear, you’ve found me in Italy, Rome to be more precise.”_

She felt her body slide further into the tub, realizing he was not anywhere near her.

 _“I’m finishing up promo for Macbeth.  Anyways, how’s New York?”_ he continued, _“Still making all those adoring fans faint at the sight of your presence on the stage?”_

Her response came out so quick, it surprised even Rosette, “I have to admit, I’m loving it.  Having a wonderful time and it’s been one of the best runs of my life.  I have been so lucky this time around, and even after my ‘issues’ in the beginning, the Met seems to be quite pleased with me.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating the phone just enough for her to feel light-headed, _“Why so glum then, Sauvageau?”_

That brought her back to herself.  “I’m not,” she snapped.

His snort made her down the rest of her champagne before she blurted out, “Nothing, it’s just—I’m fine, better than fine! The Met asked me to stay on and be a part of the Spring series.  I’ll be at the head of another ninety day show.”

 _“That’s wonderful! Sláinte! Why are you talking to me then? You should be out celebrating!”_ His voice rose higher and higher on every sentence.

“Ah, no one wanted to go out. No bother, I made my own little solo party at home.”

He went quiet for a moment and she thought she lost him when his voice returned, still with the lilt that highlighted his accent, _“It’s after midnight there, isn’t it?”_

“Yes…” she said, trailing off and unsure where he was going with his question.

 _“A call after midnight…You called me to see if I was in The States.”_ His gasp made her jump _, “You wanted me to come over!”_ She sat up while the water splashed around her body as he laughed—far too loud.

“No, that’s not it—“

 _“Oh, yes it is! I am shocked, Sauvageau! Here I was thinking that we would only share that one opportunity together.  I feared you’d never use my number every again. I am pleasantly surprised.”_ She growled and he laughed even further.

“That’s not why I called! I wanted to see if you were around to…well…whatever,” she grumbled as he continued to chuckle into the phone. “If it’s so comical to you, then I’ll just hang up.”

 _“No! Wait!”_ he cried and she held off, waiting to hear what excuse he’d give.  If he made more fun of her, she would not only drop the call, but she swore she’d delete his number.

 _“I, I’m-I’m sorry. I am.  I wish I was closer, I’d be there in a heartbeat.  That being said…”_ She heard rustling and his voice dipped lower when he returned on the phone.

_“What would you do if we were together, in your place at this very moment?”_

“What do you mean?” she sweetly replied, while one of her rose painted toes traced the outline of the tub.

_“I don’t think I have to spell it out for you.”_

She laughed at him, “I’m not having phone sex with you, Michael.”

He choked back a moan and she bit her lip to suppress her own, _“There it is,”_ he sighed, _“How I missed hearing your voice….”_ He trailed off before returning with a bit more emphasis.

_“Come on, you know that you and I…we, we had lots of fun while we were together.  Tell me, what are you wearing right now?”_

The sly smirk played on her lips, “Nothing.”

 _“Shut up,”_ he deadpanned and she laughed some more.

“No lie, I am naked because I am in my bathtub.  I decided a party in here would be acceptable with my champagne and chocolate.”

 _“Lots of fluffy bubbles?”_ he asked.

“Tons,” she said and ran her fingers through the water. “Maybe you’d join me if you were here?”

_“I’m usually too tall and long for your standard bathtub, so let’s say I waited for you until you’re nice and warm and still…wet.  I can share your champagne, while I wait, can’t I?”_

“Of course,” she murmured as she found a more comfortable position, “I’d hope you’d at least join me in here while I cleaned up.”

_“Absolutely. But, I wouldn’t be too patient, I’m afraid. I’d want to pull you out, wrap you in a towel and bring you to your bedroom.”_

“And then?”

_“I’d clean every single inch of your skin with my tongue.”_

She managed to choke out an, “Oh?”

_“Shall I go on?”_

She made a sound in the affirmative, her fingers gripping the edge of the tub, her breath already picking up pace.

He groaned again, this time with a little more behind it than before, _“You loved my mouth on your thighs, I might start there.  I would work my way up to your knee before I went back down and down…”_

Rosette’s hand dropped into the soapy waters, mimicking his words before settling in between her legs, “God, go on,” she murmured.

 _“I think I might build you up, almost till you were singing just as high as the night we were together.”_ He paused to gasp and she jumped in.

“Yes, but this time, I think I’ll be involved some more.  Maybe I’ll get you to lie on your back so I can take in the full view, how would you like that, _Michael_?” Her emphasis on his name caused another growl from his lips and her fingers worked faster inside of her.

“You say how much you love my mouth, I’ll have to use it properly.  Maybe run my …lips up and down you while my tongue teases that delightful skin so much? I remember how hard you were with me, I would love to feel it in my hands.” She gasped as she felt a wave of pleasure streak through her legs before finishing, “I can show you how low my voice can go…”

His panting sped up as he choked out, _“Rosette, ah, but I need you underneath me. I want you wrapped around my waist as I dive deeper and deeper into you, all as I kiss your breath away…”_

“Fuck, Michael…” she moaned as her gasp echoed off the walls of her bathroom.  She dropped her phone onto the lip of the tub, as the water rushed all around her.  When she regained her senses, she picked it back up, hearing the same rhythmic panting on the other line.

After a moment of just listening to the other breathing, Michael broke the silence, _“Thank you for the wake up, Savageau. I wish you were here in person, however, rather than just on the line.”_ A sound of a click and a long exhale let her know he was enjoying a post-euphoric vice. The idea of him lying in bed with the smoke billowing around him made her want him in front of her even more.

She chuckled as her eyes remained closed, a few droplets running down her cheeks from her enthusiastic movements, “I think I’ll sleep well tonight, I should thank you for that.”  She felt the exhaustion taking over from the cumulative effect of her day.  Reaching up, she flipped the plug and the water began to drain, swirling around the tub.

 _“Rosette?”_ Michael asked and she turned back to her phone.

“Yes?”

He hesitated while she carefully extracted herself from the water, _“I hope it won’t be another six weeks before we speak again.”_

Rosette didn’t want that, and she knew it. She wanted him, and get to know him more and from the sounds he made on the phone, he wanted to be around her too.

She swallowed hard before speaking, “Carmen ends on December Tenth.  If you’re around…”

_“I’ll be around. It’ll be arranged, believe me.”_

She did not doubt him, not for one second.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosette's run as Carmen comes to an end, but new surprises will bring big changes to her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for your reading pleasure: vieille sorcière: old hag; Tu me fais rougir: you're making me blush.

Rosette opened one eye.For a split second, she believed the horrible sound was in her mind—or coming from inside her head.However, a quick look at her nightstand revealed no empty bottles of vodka, and her pajamas still on her body, confirmed an easy night prior.No, the sound echoed from the front of her apartment, and seemed louder on every incessant knock.

“Whomever this is will regret waking up this morning,” Rosette growled as she reached for one of her kimonos draped across her settee before crossing into her living room.  The bare minimum of sunlight signaled an early hour, one not too suitable to Rosette’s composition.

When she rose on her brightly colored toes to look through the peephole, all she saw was an older, blonde haired lady with a hideous looking jacket.Rosette flung the door open, expecting the woman to have been searching for her neighbors down the hall with the annoying dog.

Instead, she pursed her lips as she regarded the haphazard Opera singer at the door, “Rosette Sauvageau I presume? Well, I can gather you weren’t expecting me, dear.” Though presented with a bright and cheerful British accent, Rosette’s voice responded in a muted growl.

“Who in the world are you and why are you here so early?” One hand ran through her curls, which seemed to be standing at attention on top of her head.  This also seemed to bring another sneer of disappointment by the currently nameless British woman.

“Didn’t Mr. Pomfrey tell you I would ring ‘round? I arrived from Heathrow yesterday, figured might as well get started immediately.I’m Caroline Banthy, oh, excuse me, dear.” Rosette barely had a second to register the woman’s name before she had barged into the apartment and dropped her purse onto the couch. 

_Aidan.I’m going to kill him, I’m going to kill him and then I’m going to resurrect his body and burn him again._ As the intrusion pulled off her pristine white gloves, her eyes went from analyzing Rosette, to the room around her.

“My, it seems we don’t know how to keep house, do we, dear?” Rosette noted the shoes lying on the floor and empty glasses with a few wrappers from wine bottles lying on the tables.The heat flushed her face, and she made a start to clean it up.Until that voice in her head reminded her: this was her apartment.

Rosette turned to face her unwelcome guest, “Well, _ma cher,_ I’m afraid the maid doesn’t arrive till later. Since I wasn’t expecting company, I was not prepared for your delightful presence.”

“Apparently,” the elder woman deadpanned, and Rosette felt her hands ball into fists. 

“No matter,” Caroline continued, “This will be part of our journey together.Don’t you worry.Now, first things first, where’s your kettle?”With that, she headed off into the kitchen, where Rosette anticipated more passive aggressive insults to arise. 

Kimono flowing behind her, Rosette walked past Caroline and reached into a cabinet for her box of tea and a mug.  _Maybe if I feed her, she’ll leave sooner._ However, Caroline still remained fixated, staring at Rosette’s cooktop.

“Sink is right there.”

“Yes, dear, I see that.Where is your kettle? For tea and hot water?” _If she calls me dear one more time, I’m going to yank on those perfectly styled bangs on her pretty little English head._

Rosette waved her hand lazily through the air, “Microwave?”

The look of sheer panic imbued with disgust that ran across Caroline’s face almost made Rosette burst into laughter, “You want me to make tea in a microwave?”

“It does heat things up, that’s the function, _n’ce-est pa_?” With shaking hands, Caroline rested them on her counter, while Rosette merely smirked at her as she reclined in her seat. Without warning, the elder woman began searching through her cabinets muttering something about “Lazy Americans” before Rosette snapped.

“I’m French. Tea isn’t my thing, dear.Coffee?” and she flicked the switch on her Nespresso machine as Caroline let forth the first of many disappointed sighs.Her eyes continued to roam around as Rosette watched her from the side.

“So,” Rosette said as she pulled out the milk and another mug before she faced Caroline, “is this part of the baby-sitting service? We’re going to learn about tea and housekeeping? Are you going to teach me how to knit as well?”Caroline let one corner of her mouth rise upward while her eyes narrowed on Rosette.

“No.Unless that’s something you’d want to learn, I can arrange that one night for us.” Rosette’s face never changed, even as Caroline continued.

“Cheer up, dear.It won’t be so terrible. I’m here to help you.”

Rosette slammed a drawer in response and threw two spoons on the counter, “I don’t need help. I am doing just fine on my own, and managed to not only have the most successful run this season at the MET but I’m hired for the next one as another lead.  So, no, I don’t need you to tell me what I have to do to tidy my house up and get myself all together when I’ve done it already.”

Caroline’s unimpressed eyebrow spoke before she did, “I’m glad you feel that way my dear. However, I think you’re wrong.You had help from Aidan to get you to _Carmen_.You’ve gotten the role in _Tosca_ for your talent, but you’ve yet to start the preparations, let alone the production itself. You’ve not proven yourself to maintain this kind of star power.” 

Rosette nearly lunged at her, “Insufferable vieille sorcière! You come to my home and insult me, make me feel like garbage when I know in myself that I have what it takes! I don’t care how successful you’ve been with your other charges, I do not need you.So, leave, now.” 

Caroline focused on Rosette, her voice calm and even a bit cheery,“Understood.Just remember one thing.I am not hired by you, I was hired by Mister Pomfrey.Therefore, you do not pay my salary, he does.I will leave when the job is finished.” She retreated into the main room but her voice carried back to Rosette who held onto her counter to refrain from any type of violent outburst.

“Ms.Sauvageau, I will be seeing you soon.Remember, I will report _all_ to Mister Pomfrey, and I doubt that is a relationship you want to injure.He’s done far more for you than you can imagine, and even after your childish behavior he’ll still has your best interests at heart. However, if you decide to continue your temper tantrum, I’m not sure if he’ll still feel the same way.Good day, dear.”

Rosette could thrash and scream all she wanted.Her English crumpet was here to stay.

* * *

 

Two days passed and Rosette’s babysitter did not return to the apartment, nor the Met, which was just fine as she prepared for the last show of the season.  The finale proves a hard night, if only to say goodbye to people one has worked with for several months.  The blood and constant sweat and tears are all a part of a production. By the end of a successful one, a family will come together. 

As Rosette chatted with her fellow singers, her co-star who played Escamillo pulled her into a hug, “My girl! This has been amazing to be here with you.”

“You as well!” she gushed as she took another sip of champagne that flowed around them.

He leaned into her, “What’s the story? We heard you’re on for _Tosca_ , but that won’t start till the new year.Got any vacation plans?”

For a moment, Rosette went quiet.She realized she had no plans Carmen became her life.Panic would have set in at the end of the run, simply if she had no future work.However, this time, there was not only work—but a steady role and a steady paycheck.Rosette had not gone on a proper holiday in years.

She shook her head, “I’ve got nothing! Who knows, maybe I could use some sun and sand this time of year?” The laugh that followed felt natural, easygoing.It was for the realization that there were possibilities in her life, ones she had not had before.

“Rosette?” One of the assistants interrupted her conversation with a worried look on her face. Rosette excused herself away, anticipating the worst.

She still wasn’t sure if it was positive or negative when she heard the news: “There’s a man at the stage door, says he’s here to see you, but he’s not on the list.Name is Michael Far—something or other. Should I send him away?” 

Rosette attempted to remain calm as she spoke, “No—no, you can let him into my dressing room.I didn’t anticipate his attendance this evening, funny he never told me he would be coming.” Rosette once again thought that he’d forgotten her. Then she realized: it was December the tenth, and he made good on his promise.He remembered…

Before rushing off to her room like teenager, she walked around the hall to thank all her co-stars and guests.She ensured one more fresh drink in her hands before descending to the lower halls to the dressing rooms. She may have taken her time, after all, a lady never rushes to her suitors. 

“Michael…” Even with all her procrastinating, she couldn’t help herself.He watched the word fall from her lips at the doorway, causing his mouth to spread into a smile.It took every ounce of her training to not to show her immediate and visceral reaction to him in a blue open collared shirt and crisp jeans.

“Mister Fassbender.”Her voice still cracked a little at the end, but Michael let it slide. 

“Miss Sauvageau, you look quite fetching this evening. Quite the ensemble.” He motioned to her last dress in the show—a stunning red gown that showed a great deal of décolletage, highlighted by a massive necklace of rubies and diamonds.Rosette played the star, after all.

She leaned against the wall, folding her arms under her chest to give him a little more to see, “Well, Carmen didn’t hold back and neither do I. I would say I’m impressed that you remembered today’s date, but really, I’m not.You seem to be quite…attentive.” She smiled, which seemed to relax him somewhat. He held out a large bouquet of red roses, almost identically colored to her dress.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she held them up for their scent.They reminded her of a trellis that rested against the North wall of her parent’s home.The one that received the most sun throughout the year.Their fragrance grew so strong it would permeate the house.

His greenish blue eyes never left hers as he watched her place the flowers on her vanity, “Amazing show, by the way.The flowers do not compare to the performance, but I thought it might be apropos for a finale of such stature.” He rubbed his chin while he spoke, causing Rosette to smile even more.

“Well, they are beautiful and lovely.I’ll make sure they find their way home when they pack up my stuff.”

His face fell, “I thought you were staying on?”

She waved him off, crossing towards him, “Yes, I am, but they clean out everything during the holidays.Some actors can be downright disgusting in their rooms.Best to clean everything out and begin anew for the season. Plus, I get a bigger room next time.” She winked at him, causing the frown to lessen across his brow. 

“Can only imagine the things that go on down here,” he murmured before bending towards her. “Must be like trailers on sets, everyone uses their time off set differently.” His lips raised in that half smirk, and Rosette responded in kind.

“Wouldn’t know.I’ve been a good girl.” She let her words drop before she walked to her changing area behind a series of panels.Her heels flew to the corner before she reached for the zipper.Unsurprised, she felt a hand hold one of hers before the other slid across the bare skin of her shoulder.

“But you’ve still got those bad girl thoughts, don’t you?” he whispered in her ear as he pulled the zip down to allow yards of fabric to pool around her feet.Even though her undergarments were not from her normal rotation, she had enough confidence to turn around and rise up on her toes to match his eye line. 

“Always, Michael.Always.” Totally heady from his cologne and eyes and smile she did not think twice before pressing her lips to his and wrapping her arms around his neck.The grunt in appreciation from his lips told her he cared little for any pretenses between them. His rough hands moved over her skin while she palmed over the prickly stubble of his neck and jaw. His tongue caressed hers so gently, she let out a little whimper, causing him to pay the same attention to her neck.

“I’ve wanted you like this ever since that phone call,” growled into her ear and she pressed her body more into his.

“Tu me fais rougir” she said and he hummed in appreciation. “You’re too kind and attentive, Michael.”

“However,” she continued, still feeling lightheaded, “Getting inappropriate here at the Met isn’t my style.Not anymore.”

He shrank a little in her arms, and she could assume in other areas as well, “Damn you for being responsible.I wish I could have met you back when you had less restrictions.”

“Back then you wouldn’t have gotten a second call from me,” she winked before she grabbed her jeans and sweater.A shower would only increase the opportunity for her to lose that common sense at that moment.

“Wouldn’t happen to be hungry, would you?” he asked, still standing so close to her she could feel his breath on her neck.

“Starving.Lets get some food and then our choices will be a little farther away from my place of business? Oui?” Now fully clothed, she turned back to him and he jutted out his lips before he nodded in the affirmative. 

* * *

 

Thankfully, the late hour meant a private table far away from prying eyes and the ability for Rosette and Michael to remain as anonymous as possible.  However, his laugh tended to bring attention, and Rosette enjoyed prompting its appearance.

“Oh God, you really don’t want to know all our antics during _Apocalypse_.Let’s just say that Oscar and I, we had a great many scenes together and we hung out a lot after filming ended.It could get messy.” He laughed some more, as Rosette felt the effects of wine number three sliding down her throat.

She leaned back in her chair, “I can imagine you’re quite the influence.”

“Me?” he gasped, “You give me no credit. How do you know it wasn’t him being the one dragging me out to the clubs?”

She laughed, “Because even with our limited interactions, I have a sense of you.It’s a thing us French can do, we can tell a lot about a person quickly.I’ve already spent time with you over food, over drinks, on the phone…”

“--In bed,” he interrupted, letting his voice drop down into dangerous territory.

Rosette hummed as she ran her foot over his calf, prompting his eyebrow to raise, “Yes, all those places.  I can already tell you have the ability to influence others to your will.” That prompted the grin to appear.

She continued “I will make some assumptions as what’s going to happen next tonight.”Impressed, Michael sat back in his chair, waving his arm out to hear her deductions.

“I anticipate that you’ll want to leave here with me, going either to my place or yours.Although I figure you’ve got a hotel somewhere, mine is closer and I will assume you want little time to get me alone.If that happens—big if, mind you—we’ll end up in the morning discussing your love of breakfast food, and how I only want bread and coffee.Maybe another turn in bed again, I’d say that depends on how far breakfast goes.”

“Wow,” he said, nodding along, “That is impressive.I’d say you’re spot on there, Savageau.Tell me one thing though: what makes you think I just wont pay for the check and just bring you back home, safe and sound?”

That caused her mouth to break into a wide smirk, “Because you want to hear me say your name, Michael. Determination is your strong suit, and you’ve always got an end game in sight.” 

His hand hit the table with a yell, “Check!” 

Rosette giggled in victory.When the waiter left with Michael’s card, he leaned towards Rosette so his chin brushed her ear.

“What’s the long term plans though? Holidays coming up, and some time off?”She went quiet, thinking about her response as Michael signed the paper before finishing his drink.

“Hadn’t really given it a thought.  Maybe take a trip somewhere warm and lie on a beach without a care in the world.”  She looked at him for a beat before the words tumbled out.

“Why do you ask?”

He chuckled under his breath, “You forget, I’m observant as well.”  He stood from his chair before helping her up and placing her coat around her arms.

“I’ve got a few weeks off from filming.  Thought I might like to take a little trip myself. Maybe we can merge our interests.” He placed an arm around her shoulders as they headed out into the December cold.  Rosette could not tell if it was the wine, the company or Michael’s words that made her body feel as if it were set on fire.

As per her usual, she let it go—let the concerns and bells ringing in her head fall completely away before she pulled him into a kiss right there in the middle of midtown Manhattan.

“How’s about for tonight, we put my oracle skills to the test and see how good you are at ordering breakfast from my bed?” She didn’t have to walk more than two feet in front of him, before Michael’s arm wrapped around her waist and they fell into step together.

“Lead the way, Miss Sauvageau.”

 


End file.
